


Trophy

by fabricdragon



Series: How Moriarty Met Moran [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Fake Character Death, First Meetings, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Reichenbach, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unhealthy Relationships, WIP, turning the tables
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-05-25 17:31:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14982089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Sebastian Moran is officially retired, but still occasionally called in by Antarctica and other agents for special assignments... like shooting Jim Moriarty.but Jim Moriarty shot himself...its enough to intrigue a Tiger...





	1. a puzzle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [TheGreenFaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenFaerie/gifts), [InnerSpectrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/gifts), [oswin42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswin42/gifts).



“Dead as soon as you give the signal, or Sherlock jumps: understood, sir.” Colonel Moran didn’t know who the voice on the other end of the line was, really: the man’s code name was Antarctica, and his superiors were afraid of him.

This wasn’t the first mission he’d done for the man, or the other people with strange code names and the ability to have a sniper reassigned at a moment’s notice, but it was one of the strangest.  They always acted like he was a machine, unquestioning and incurious, which was the impression he’d always tried to give…

It couldn’t be further from the truth.

He’d looked up everything he could.  Sherlock Holmes was most certainly not a fraud, and likely wasn’t guilty of anything being claimed, and Richard Brook was always called Moriarty by Antarctica.  There was a tone in Antarctica’s voice when he spoke about Sherlock that spelled worry: he’d first suspected a lover, but if the detective had one it was the Captain, so he’d finally decided on a relative of some kind.  When Antarctica spoke of Moriarty there was genuine hate there, the kind of hate that comes from fascination and fear.

Whatever could frighten Antarctica was utterly fascinating.  He was going to regret putting a bullet through that man without being able to understand…

And then Moriarty put a bullet in his own brain, and his mission was over.

“The target just shot himself…” He called in and couldn’t help the puzzled tone.

“Yes,” Antarctica’s voice held a faint tremor, “Our backup plans are now in place, Colonel, and your part is concluded–you will be called if needed.”

He closed the line and packed down, even as Sherlock Holmes plummeted to his apparent death.

 _Why?  Why would someone who could turn all of England upside down kill himself?_  Moran found his feet taking him to the hospital, wanting to understand…

He saw two men and a cloth covered stretcher coming down from the roof.  They were loading the body into an unmarked van, undoubtedly to vanish into an unmarked grave…

But…

There was only a smear of red on the sheets–they should have been crimson, unless he was in a body bag… and the shape was wrong for a body bag.  He moved closer. 

One of the men turned and looked at him, frowning. “Can I help you?”

“I was supposed to verify his death before he was taken off the roof.” The lie came as easily as breathing. Everyone thought he was such a simple, almost crude man–they never realized a flat delivery could hide a lie so well.

“No one told us.”

“How… odd.” He said, not moving, watching the men… they were nervous.  _They weren’t worried because they hadn’t followed protocol, they were afraid of getting caught…_

He took a drag on his cigarette, feeling the pull at the scar that turned one side of his mouth perpetually up. “Well, I can do it here and save myself some steps, right?”

“Why bother? He’s going to an autopsy now…”

Sebastian just walked up and twitched the cover down in a casual gesture.  There was a smear of blood on the sheet under his head…but not enough blood, not nearly.  He’d seen hundreds of men die, and many of them from head wounds and this man’s head rested on the gurney on an intact skull…

Sebastian Moran glanced briefly at the man under the  sheet and flicked the covering back over him. “Well, that’s my job then.”

The two men relaxed, “Right, you wouldn’t want to get in trouble.”

“Need a hand loading him up?” He asked even as he turned away, clearly disinterested.

“No, we got it.”

Sebastian walked out of sight around the van and waited.  Once they loaded the stretcher the driver came around and died quickly of a garrote and a twist.  Sebastian dropped him to the ground and opened the driver’s door.  The other man got into the passenger side and just had time to look up before the knife drove into his throat.

He pulled both bodies into the back and considered the still form on the stretcher.

“You may as well get up, you know.” he said slowly, “although you don’t seem to be breathing much…”

No response.

Sebastian took off the sheet and considered carefully, before cutting the sheet into strips and tying him to the frame.  He found a knife on a slim holster on his leg, and let his fingers rest on the ankle…

A pulse, but very very slow.

He took the keys from one of the dead men and drove away.


	2. Tiger Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty wakes up

Jim Moriarty woke up and stretched… _restraint? What?_ he opened his eyes slowly and found that he was lying on his side in a bed–not a surprise–and his wrist was cuffed to the bed corner by a chain.

 _Who the hell would dare?_   Jim kept blinking, trying to clear his head–the drugs took time.  There was a bottle of water on the bedside table…

 _Had he been violent?  Thrashed? That hadn’t happened when he tested… no_ … none of his people would dare anyway.  So someone had decided to try to take his position? To hold him as a hostage or get his codes? No… he wouldn’t be in this comfortable a room…

He sat up slowly and drank the bottled water.  As his eyes were better able to focus he realized he was in a somewhat… _old?  This was an English house, but pre-war… things had been removed, recently: the bedside lamp, the extra chairs, the artwork… the window wasn’t terribly secure, it just had recently had privacy film put on it. Big room…_

Jim turned his attention to the cuff on his wrist and cursed under his breath–nothing as simple as a handcuff– and the chain it was locked to had been welded closed around the bed post.  There was a matching cuff on his other wrist, but it wasn’t attached to anything.

He was nude.  He’d been comfortable enough, with the sheets and a comforter, but that was distinctly odd as well: who would strip him, lock him down, and leave him…

 _Hell, who would leave him alive?_   The thought chilled him.

Exploring the limits of his reach he found a portable toilet, several more bottles of water, a bottle of electrolyte, and a few meal bars.  The meal bars were interesting–high end military rations, and labeled for military, not civilian sale…

But this was a civilian house.

It was a puzzle.

Jim sometimes liked puzzles but in this case there were not enough clues to solve it and that left him frustrated beyond belief.

Whoever did this was odd, very odd, and he didn’t understand… but unfortunately they weren’t foolish–the restraints were simple, but nothing usable to get loose had been left anywhere in range.

He kept trying though.  Eventually his hand started to swell a bit from the abuse he was putting it through trying to get out so he stopped.

It wasn’t too long after that before the door opened.

-

Jim saw the surface first: compact build, easily disguised under clothing but likely very strong, tanned-the kind of tan that spoke of years at sea, or in the desert-with his hair bleached lighter than it should be by sun...the strands of silver hiding in the sun bleach.

Clothing that was quality, but careless...old, worn, something comfortable at home.

A scar that twisted the corner of his lip up in a faint smirk that wasn't matched on the other side...that scar ran up past his eye, very close.

An expression that said bored guard, the kind that asked no questions and would follow orders without question. He was holding a toothpick in the untouched corner of his mouth.

_But the eyes..._

The eyes were looking at him the way he looked at a puzzle or a decent cipher:  like he was trying to figure him out.

"So do you work for my captor," Jim mused, "or are you him?  You look very much like you're a guard, but you aren’t."

The other side of his mouth quirked up to match the smirk, and the toothpick rolled thoughtfully in his mouth. "So you **are** clever..."

"I'm far more than clever..." Jim watched him carefully.  He looked entirely too much like someone who might pull him apart just to do it.  “What do you want, then?"

"You...why is everyone so fascinated with you?" his voice was calm and curious.

"Who is fascinated with me? Sherlock?"

"He's intriguing too...but he was whisked away by people someone would miss... besides, I wanted to understand why you killed yourself...it didn't make sense." The smirk became a bit broader, “it made sense once I found your men loading you to get away."

"Did it...you were watching, then?"

"I was supposed to put a bullet in that clever brain of yours, but you beat me to it."

Jim’s breath caught then and he looked...

_Sniper...yes..._

"I knew there would be snipers," Jim watched him, "and that no one would shoot a dead man..."

"I might have...never hurts to be sure." His voice gained more inflection. "But we were supposed to be discrete." His eyes flicked over Jim again and he left, rolling his back against the door frame.

Jim’s eyes flashed over the room... _yes this could be his, if he had inherited it, or purchased it and not made many changes–there was nothing to tell the man’s personality in here._

It wasn't long before he was back. He tossed an ice pack on the bed.

"Shouldn't have pulled that hard."

"Waking up from that in restraints was...alarming."  Jim put the cold pack on his hand. "Why didn't you deliver me to Mycroft?"

"Who?" The man's eyebrows drew together and then he nodded, "Is that his name?  I rather figured he was Sherlock’s relative..."

Jim breathed out slowly, _Oh._   “You know him as Antarctica..."

The man nodded. "Him and all those code name lot. I mostly work for MI6 freelance, now that I'm retired...but Antarctica still calls me in every now and then."

 _Retired… but Mycroft calls him in, not good_. "So...you don't want money...do you?"

"No.”  a smile flickered over his face and was gone. “I assume you had a lot."

"Still do."

He shrugged, "Antarctica hated you, and was afraid of you...I could hear it in his voice.  Nothing else ever got him beyond aggravated."

 _Flattering to hear, I suppose_. “You...want me...because...”

“You apparently managed to get off Scott free from crimes they had you dead to rights on. This Sherlock fellow is whip smart, if lacking in sense, and chasing you like a greyhound after a rabbit...”Jim couldn’t help but snicker; it was a good image. “And Antarctica hates and fears you...”

He chuckled and sucked on the toothpick, “And you were clever enough to slip the noose.”

“So I repeat, what do you want?”

“For right now?” His eyes tracked over Jim casually, “just curious... figured I'd find out what was so fascinating.”

“My brains and my contacts and a lot of other things that won't do you any good with me handcuffed to a bed.”

He just shrugged. "We'll see.” And walked out.

After long enough for the ice bag to be merely cool, the sniper came back.

“So...clever fellow–”

“Didn't they tell you my name?” Jim asked, curious. He’d had more to drink and was feeling much more awake.

“Wouldn't matter.” He’d gotten a fresh toothpick. “They told me what you were called, though:  Moriarty is an interesting name.”  He shrugged, “What do you want to be called?”

“I'm usually called Mister Moriarty.”

He chuckled and smiled around the toothpick, “Heh… ‘Mister’ from me isn't friendly...”

Jim raised an eyebrow, “Are you?”

“Maybe.”

“James, then, or Jim if you are more casual.” Jim said, trying to feel his way through this–the man wasn’t interested in any of the usual things.

He shrugged– his muscles casually evident–“I haven't decided how friendly I am yet… James.” He made it sound possessive.

“So who are you?”

“That detective was apparently able to read people like a book, are you?” he asked, sounding honestly curious.

“Sometimes.  I preferred to walk in with my research already done.”

“Alright then James, impress me...” he looked amused and intrigued and Jim had to force the snarl down. 

“You like hurting people that's obvious.”

“It's not the only thing I like, but yes.”

“You prefer women, but I'm not outside your interests.”

“Could tell that from how I look at you.” he said with a faint smile, leaning back on the doorframe.

“Sniper, deserts, retired? You'd be bored just pulling the occasional job for them...” Jim got interested in the puzzle and the tension left his voice, “You must have worked side jobs every now and then, in addition to...”

Suddenly the picture snapped into place. _Oh. Oh hell._

Jim retreated behind cool professionalism. “Colonel John Sebastian Moran...top marksman, adept with a blade or bare hands, and trained in a number of interesting specialties–known as Tiger Jack when he’s working off the books.”

“Oh very good.” He sounded pleased, in fact. “Did I work for you? Most of my outside employers never knew my real name–of course I never knew theirs.”

“Twice...I would have called you on some of the more recent jobs, but you never work in England...”

“Not unless I'm working for England, I live here after all...When I'm not in one of the hot zones.”

Jim tried again, “I can afford–”

“Not interested...may never be, might just be not yet.”

“Not…yet...?”

“Like I said, I was curious...what was so utterly fascinating about you. It was almost going to be a pity to shoot you...” he looked intrigued and a bit avaricious, “And then you fooled them all–that’s... interesting.”

 _The intrigued and predatory look was actually a bit unnerving when it was aimed at me_. “So you plan on collecting me, John?”

“If you’re using my first name it's Jack, not John...but I use Sebastian more often,” he smiled a very predatory smile, “and you might want to be careful what you call me....given who has the keys.”

“So?”

“I already collected you. Now I'm figuring out if I just want a trophy, and maybe handing the rest of your body off to Antarctica...or not.”  He looked amused, “Or whether I want you alive...And if so...How?”

“I think you'd prefer me as a benefactor and employer, Colonel Moran.”

“Would I? Anyway...it's time to eat, and since I haven't killed you yet, I suppose you might want to.”

“True enough.”

“Face away, hands behind your back.”

Jim did, and had his cuffs locked together with a bit of give.  Then to his surprise he was unlocked from the bed.

“Come on, then.” He was casually pulled to his feet.

“I thought you were going to toss in some more rations...”

“Really? I'm not that uncivilized.  You eat what I eat, wine if you want it.”

“A last meal?” Jim kept his voice light.

“Any meal can be your last.” He shrugged, “might as well enjoy it.”

 


	3. Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> conversations

Sebastian led him out of the bedroom. He had to be impressed with the man's responses: he hadn't struggled or made a fuss since figuring out he couldn't slip the cuffs.

Of course those cuffs were souvenirs from the sandbox, not nearly as easy to slip as handcuffs.

He was looking around; soaking up information...it was fascinating to watch.

Sebastian put him down at the table and considered.

"I'd rather have your hands in front of you, the chairs are antiques.” He said, thinking unhappily of metal scratches on the wood.

"I can tell.” Jim leaned forward and didn't move as Sebastian re-cuffed his hands in front of him, making sure he had enough play to manage utensils.

"You take this well." Sebastian could have thought he was completely at ease except his eyes were scanning constantly.

"So far you've been a better host than Mycroft was...of course that's not saying much."

"Oh?" Sebastian set a salad down in front of each of them. He waved at Jim’s, "I didn't want to presume on the dressing."

Jim glanced at the dressing on Sebastian’s salad and shook his head. "Allergic."

Sebastian considered the blue cheese dressing. "Penicillin?”

"Mold, period, but Penicillin will kill me."

Sebastian considered. "Behave. I'll get you a lemon and some olive oil, besides I can check on the rest of the dinner"

"You trust me to behave?"

"No" and he got up and walked out.

Sebastian ran statistics and scenarios in his head as he got things and checked on dinner.

James was sitting as he had been when he got back, but one of the smaller forks was missing.

"It's sterling silver and far too soft to work on the locks. Chances are you'd just break it."

James sighed and pulled it from under his leg.

It was when Sebastian was about to go get the main course that he spotted the problem.

“Oh....Oh you are a marvel..."

James narrowed his eyes, “what?"

“The olive fork was just a distraction...you got into the display..." _and never made the least noise doing it. damn._

James closed his eyes and a muscle tensed in his jaw. "You have good eyes."

Sebastian walked over and pulled Jim from his seat.  Jim expected to be beaten, or injured in some fashion, but instead Sebastian simply pulled Jim over and locked his wrists over his head to the wall sconce.

Jim was furious, but he had to admit to some grudging admiration for the man–he would have to pull the sconce out of the wall to do anything but stand there, and he was stretched out to be searched.

He was pissed beyond belief at being hooked naked to the wall though.

Sebastian searched him thoroughly and efficiently, without any apparent concern over anything sexual–unlike any other strip search he’d been subjected to– retrieved the items and then walked out.

Leaving him standing naked against a wall with his hands locked overhead.  _This is embarrassing: I’m the king of the criminal world…_

Sebastian came in with two plates and looked him up and down slowly, “You look good like that.”

Jim throttled the man in his mind. “I'm being considerate of your wall sconce.” Jim said idly, “they’re antiques.”

“Inherited the whole place from my aunt,” Sebastian’s low voice with it’s not quite English accent and posh syllables sounded almost like a purr, “Rarely been here until recently...out in the field usually and then trying to keep busy.”

He unhooked him and brought him back to the table and put him back… in the chair he had been in before.

“Not angry?”

“Why would I be?  That was a good try, I almost missed it.”

Jim was trying to figure out how to respond to that so he ate a bite of the food as a delaying tactic– much to his surprise it was extremely good.

“One of the best snipers in England…” Jim said slowly, licking his fork.

“The best,” Sebastian said.

“One of the best snipers in England and you can cook too? And still not married… huh.”

Sebastian smiled briefly over a forkful of the spiced chicken and wine sauce. “For some reason most of the people I meet are intimidated.”

“You need to meet a better class of people, Colonel.”

“They’re usually at the other end of a phone… or a scope.”

Not long after Sebastian’s pocket buzzed: he pulled out his phone with a frown, and then chuckled. “Speaking of which…”  

Jim was shocked he answered it in front of him, and realized why instantly. 

Sebastian spoke calmly into the phone. "Antarctica. I may be able to take an assignment, depending on details, but I was not expecting you to call again so soon."

Sebastian’s eyes locked with James’ as Antarctica asked him politely if he could take an investigation assignment. Jim stayed very quiet and still, listening–whatever was going on, having Mycroft find him alive would be infinitely worse.

"Possibly. I had finally scheduled time to handle estate matters. What investigation? "

"Moriarty s body was apparently removed, and the cameras looped to cover it."

"Oh? Difficult job, but since it's in England it should be possible.  I will be unable to dedicate full time to it, if you would prefer another agent."

"We suspect Moriarty of having moles in several agencies; you are the most discreet choice."  He paused, “It would be appreciated if you could.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at the unexpectedly personable request. "Very well. My usual rates are....not applicable. Send the information you have and I will begin."

"I'll send you our standard contract for other types of work.”

He hung up without a sign off.  Sebastian hung up and put the phone back in his pocket.

"He’s very agitated." Sebastian said thoughtfully.

Jim slowly started eating again. "What did Mycroft want?"

"I've been asked to investigate the disappearance of Moriarty’s body," he said eating his food and watching James.

Jim stared at him. “Oh you have got to be kidding…you aren’t...you took the job?”

“Certainly.  Better that I take it than someone else.”

“It would give you the means to cover up any slips,” Jim admitted.

“Luckily you had already arranged to loop the cameras.”

“You didn’t know that.”

“I did after I saw the men loading you up.  Once I realized they were frauds I looked and the cameras weren’t aimed at the van–they should have been.”

“You… take advantage of things quickly.”

“Yes, but then… that’s why people hire me, instead of someone else–the ability to improvise well in the field.”

“It’s why I hired you.” Jim grumbled. “I tried to hire you full time.”

“I’d say that stands out, but it doesn’t.” Sebastian nodded, “Tiger Jack gets a lot of offers, some very good. Which jobs were you?”

“Rio–the man I wanted killed during Mardi Gras: no guns– and Belarus–the gang of idiots who talked too much and got MI6’s attention.”

Sebastian sat back, “oh… those were you?  The Rio job was brilliant…”

“Naturally.”

“I always enjoyed a challenge, but the timing on that one was superb.” He smiled a bit more warmly, “The Belarus job was a bit dull, but I got paid three times so I didn’t mind.”

Jim blinked at him, “three?”

“You, MI6, and one of my Russian contacts: I called them to see if they wanted to put in a bid–they did.”

“Well that’s clever of you.”

“I’m clever enough,” his voice was really quite attractive, “Of course it’s what intrigues me in other people.”

“There are few enough clever people in the world, admittedly–most of them are terribly boring.” Jim felt the rage come up too fast to stop: at his predicament, at the world, at the idiots, at all the pathetic ordinary people who dared–

Sebastian’s eyes widened at the look of pure fury that transformed the smaller man’s face.  He’d been intriguing but…suddenly he was fascinating.  He reached out and drew his thumb over the man’s lip and cheek.

“What?” Jim blinked at him.

“Oh aren’t you a kitten…”

“I’m a WHAT?!”

Sebastian shook his head, “Dessert?”

“Kitten?!” Jim sputtered, “I control most of the illegal traffic in England and have my hooks in black market dealings around the world and you’re calling me a KITTEN?!”

“You’re adorable.  I can see why you had them all convinced… you hide those claws so nicely.”

“You… are mental.” Jim finally huffed.

“Probably. So?”

Jim put his hands up and rubbed at his face. “So dessert?”

“I don’t think I should leave you alone again, and while I like the way you look on my wall…”

Jim growled.

Sebastian grinned around the apparently ever present toothpick, “…kitten.”


	4. Bite me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, non con, biting, choking, etc  
> Still un beta'd since my husband is still too sick to read.

Sebastian left the dishes for the moment and went to get James, he was once again impressed that James anticipated and simply stood up.

"So in lieu of desert...?" Jim asked.

"Shower, I think, unless you prefer a bath?"

"Clean is to be preferred," he sighed, "what will it cost me to avoid the least unpleasant options?"

That...was puzzling.  He turned that over in his mind and came up with a few options...

"I hadn't planned to rape you in the shower..." He said as they entered his aunt’s largest bathroom, the one with the whirlpool bath for her joints.

It was appallingly pastel, but comfortable, and big.

"Okay now this doesn't suit you at all."

“No,” he chuckled. “My aunt had a lot of joint issues and had the whole bathroom done over.  Awful color scheme, but I've been working on function before decor.”

James was tense under his hands though...

“If I was going to have sex with you–”

“Not my concern, although I expect you plan to...I rather expect you'll restrain me to the bed for that.” James’ voice was casual but he wasn’t, not really.

Sebastian stood still, keeping his hands on the man. James’ eyes tracked the room carefully looking for weaknesses...

"You said I was a better host than Antarctica..."

“I spent a few weeks in his private holding cells, yes." James affected a bored tone, "the tea was horrible, and the maid service nonexistent"

“I’m afraid there's no maid service here, either, but I trust the food is better.”

“Much better.” His voice was unhappy and he was tense and looking straight ahead. “Get on with it.”

~

 _He wouldn’t tell me what he wanted, and he enjoyed hurting people…_ Jim sighed... _time to leave_.  He sank into his mind, hoping he'd be able to find his way out again.

_Technicolor patterns and fractals and pure math and mad hatters and topology and Sherlock smoking a hookah and cellophane taxis and Westwood and music and patterns and..._

~

Sebastian frowned as the tension left James’ shoulders.

“James?” He turned him and...His face was blank, empty and his eyes were focused on nothing at all.

“James?”

He put pressure on a nerve junction; an ordinary man would scream–even an extraordinary one would react badly: the only change was a slight increase in blinking and his breathing hesitated before smoothing out.

_Now that’s...what would make you do that?  The idea of rape?_

It wasn't until he was part way through bathing the man, limp and unresisting as a doll that he started to see...

“Antarctica hurt you badly then...?” He murmured, “And still you escaped...and escaped again...”

Sebastian considered the body carefully. _They didn't leave many marks..._

He carefully washed him, keeping his head clear of the water...

_Waterboarding then... ah, you thought… punishment for trying to escape?_

_What would it cost you to avoid the worst of it... I see._

He pulled him out and dried him off

He was attractive enough but just a body right now and that never interested him.

He carried him back to his room and after a moment’s pause got his aunt’s waterproof bed liner back on the bed and re-did the sheets.

“Somehow I doubt she intended me to use anything this way...but she was an odd girl, who knows.”

Sebastian put a plate of desert down on a table next to the bed, along with more water and other necessities, did the dishes, and went out to work.

…

Jim came back to his body slowly.  He had the perfect solution for a contract he’d been considering just before the roof.  He opened his eyes and the room came into focus.  He was back on the bed, one wrist on the chain as he had been before. For a moment he wondered but no… the dinner had been real.

Self-assess:  nothing hurt besides being stiff.  He hadn’t been coughing?  His ribs and throat didn’t hurt and… he hadn’t thrown up.

He slowly sat up and the bed made a crinkling noise it hadn’t before… waterproof layer?   He did have to go… he used the portable toilet and looked around…

There was a slice of cake on a table by the bed, along with water and baby wipes…

He considered the cake.  Store bought and… _the label with the ingredients was on the paper plate.  Huh._

He didn’t hurt?  He was clean, but…nothing hurt. This didn’t make much sense.

He ate the cake though.  _Decent, nothing exciting_.  Eventually he went to sleep.  He woke up when the door opened, reflex causing him to go for a gun that wasn’t there.

“Good reflexes.” Sebastian noted, “Finally back?”

“Yes.” Jim looked him over thoughtfully, “Who did you pin the missing body on?”

“Well as it happens there are a few competing factions in London….”

“Harris’ men?” Jim considered, “Well, if I was actually dead they might have pulled it off I suppose.”

“There is a remarkable amount of chaos going on out there.”

“Failsafes.” Jim sighed, “The longer I don’t call them off the more failsafes go off… it’s standard.”

Sebastian tilted his head and sat down in the chair not far from the bed, “Just criminals killing each other? Or does it go higher?”

“Why?”

“Well, if it goes higher it crosses into my business.”

“It’s a doomsday cascade.” Jim shrugged. “After set amounts of time it escalates, and the chaos itself will escalate.  In addition a few assassination plans I had created will be handed off to rival agencies…”

Sebastian whistled, “Sounds messy.”

“Well, it was the automated system in case I was killed without knowing who did it.” Jim flashed a manic grin at him, “Unless you feel like letting me go?”

Sebastian smiled happily, “Oh not in the SLIGHTEST.”

“You didn’t do anything to me, and I can assure you, you won’t be able to keep me awake to enjoy–”

“You seem to be operating under a few misapprehensions.” Sebastian interrupted him casually.

“Such as?”

“That I have the slightest interest in your body.”

“I saw how you looked at me.” Jim shrugged, “and I have no interest in being water boarded again.”

“Allow me to amend that: I’m not interested in your body without you in it.” Sebastian pulled out a toothpick and stuck it in the corner of his mouth, “YOU are fascinating… an empty body is just a step up from a corpse.”  He paused, “And I never had plans to water board you.”

Jim just looked at him dubiously.

“If I was going to hurt you, Kitten, I have no reason to hide it from you.”

Jim felt furious and gritted his teeth, “I am not a kitten.”

Sebastian leaned forward and reached out to his face again and Jim snapped his hand up to grab his wrist, “People have died, slowly, for less.”

Sebastian spat his toothpick into the trash and moved suddenly; before Jim could react both his wrists were held down and the man was using his weight to hold him in place.

“Such a pretty Kitten… all fierce.” And he lowered his head into range.

Jim lunged but Sebastian moved faster. _God damn it he’d ANTICIPATED that!_ Sebastian yanked Jim’s body sideways and Jim’s teeth closed on shirt collar not throat.

“Beautiful…” Sebastian groaned as he felt himself get a bit dizzy with lust–it didn’t happen often.

“You smell like gasoline.” Jim growled.

“You’re a match, Kitten…” he pulled handcuffs out of a pocket and locked his free wrist to the chain attached to his other wrist. 

It gave Jim a suspicious amount of play, so when Sebastian backed off the bed Jim moved.  Jim calculated that Sebastian expected him to move away, to the length of the chain… and then haul him in.  Instead Jim lunged, aiming to wrap the chain around Sebastian’s throat before he could react.

Sebastian was surprised, but fast–he got his arm up and blocked the chain before Jim could finish the motion and he smiled like a predator, all sharp teeth and hunger.

Jim was spun twice and found himself flat on the bed with Sebastian over him again, this time holding his arms over head by the chain between his wrists. Sebastian grabbed his hair and held his head with his other hand, “Oh I am going to enjoy you…”

“You are going to die slowly in agony.” Jim hissed.

“probably.” And he lowered his head and put his teeth to Jim’s throat.  Jim froze–his jaws were right over his windpipe, and with his head held back like that…

“It would take you a while to die if I bit down now.” Sebastian’s voice rumbled into his throat. “I killed a man like this, you know. Held his throat in my teeth until I felt his life run out…”

Jim calculated and submitted, baring his throat further, going limp.

“Good Kitten…” Sebastian pulled his teeth away and Jim knocked his heel into Sebastian’s calf–a useless gesture but it distracted him briefly, and he lunged forward and sank his teeth into the man’s throat.

Sebastian moaned and pulled Jim’s head back further and further until his jaw opened despite his best efforts–Sebastian was just too strong.

Jim tasted blood in his mouth and snarled, opening his eyes to see Sebastian looking down at him possessively, eagerly.  He cursed the fact that the torn skin looked trivial.

Sebastian  pressed down on him while he looped the excess chain length around the corner post–James would have to move up to it to unloop it– and then he got up, pulling him by the ankle to the foot of the bed, stretching him out to full extension.

“I will kill you…” Jim snarled.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t try.” Sebastian used another handcuff to lock one ankle to the foot of the bed.  “Such sharp little kitten teeth…”

Jim watched him get out a familiar looking tube and a condom. He could try to leave his body now, but with the adrenaline it would be difficult… but if he was planning on using lube, he wouldn’t be hurt too badly, and he might get another chance…

Sebastian saw the calculations in his eyes– _God that mind was sharp_ – and let him see the lube… he didn’t want him to just go vacant again.

“So, Kitten…I’m going to unlock your leg in just a minute, and you’re going to try to kill me….”

Jim narrowed his eyes, “You sound like you want me to.”

“I want you to be YOU, Kitten… whether you kiss me or kill me–or try to. Like I said I have no interest in an empty body.”

“I will kill you.”

“Try it, Kitten.” Sebastian smirked down at him.

Jim glared at him when Sebastian finished his own preparations and unlocked his ankle.  The handcuff key got tossed to the floor out of reach and then he moved back up over Jim’s body, holding him down and keeping him from detangling the chain.

Jim was breathing heavily and debating what to do when a slicked hand started stroking him gently almost caressingly. “You have GOT to be kidding? You think I’m going to LIKE this?”

“I don’t know what you like Kitten…”

Jim lost it. “Stop CALLING me that!” he shrieked and pulled his legs up and wrapped them around the man.

Sebastian had a moment to wonder what James was doing when he was suddenly flipped sideways.  _Judo? Something like that_ , and then he had to bring his free arm up to block his throat as James went for it with his teeth again.  His teeth sank into Sebastian’s arm and he shook his head like a terrier.

Sebastian felt the lust and the heat of combat and _oh god this was glorious_. He pulled his other hand up and took hold of James by the throat, holding his head still, forcing his mouth open more and more using his bloody arm as a gag.  Eventually James was trying to let go, trying to pull away from the block in his mouth and the hand squeezing his throat.  Sebastian pulled his arm free.

Jim was gasping dizzily.  He could breathe a little now that the arm was gone, but Sebastian’s hand was still choking him.  Jim’s arms were still stuck over his head; he pulled himself against the chain, trying to get loose from the hand around his throat– fighting for air.

James was struggling and his eyes were going hazy as Sebastian came against Jim’s erection.  When he recovered he took his bloody arm and stroked Jim to completion while he fought to breathe… and let him pass out.

“Sweet dreams, Kitten.”

 


	5. Burn

Sebastian had cleaned and bandaged his injuries and gotten a little sleep.  When he went back into James’ room the man was still and absent, but his breathing was steady.  Sebastian drew a hand down his throat over the bruises and thought about what it would be like…

He left him enough water and meal bars for several days, just in case, before he went back to work.

James’ failsafes had indeed caused a great deal of chaos–he took advantage of it.   When he was walking away from a building full of bodies and fire he finally called in to Antarctica.

“Colonel? What have you found out?”

“It’s complicated, and quite messy, sir. Apparently three rival groups are involved.  It seems that Moriarty had made arrangements to have his body removed–I’m not certain why, because the individuals who did it were murdered, and the body stolen.”

“That explains a great deal,” Antarctica said tiredly.

“I managed to interrogate someone affiliated with the second group. They had apparently believed that either the body was faked, or he wasn’t actually dead, and were trying to gain control of his assets.”

“Idiots…” Antarctica sighed, and then quietly, “No one could make that man do anything.”

 _No, no they couldn’t,_ Sebastian smiled, _which is why he’s worth having_. “Which brings us to the third group,” Sebastian paused. “Idiots is too kind a word.  They had someone they thought looked like him: they needed the actual body gone to–”

“Put their doppelganger in place, I see.”

“It has been…confusing.” Sebastian admitted, “Sorting through it all.”

“I assume the individuals will not be troubling us any further?”

“No. I’ll send you a bill.”

“What happened to the double?”

“I didn’t think he was important enough to remove from the building before it burned down.” Sebastian glanced back at the smoke, “If I was wrong, I could tell you which room he was in? He was dead, but if the body would be useful…”

“No, I don’t think so. Unfortunately Moriarty left a number of things set to cause trouble, and it is keeping us all very busy.  This is merely one less thing to deal with.”

“I did interrupt settling my Aunt’s estate business for this…”

“You should not be needed further for some time. Your fees will be handled in the usual fashion–with a bonus.”

Sebastian smiled to himself.  That had taken just over two days, earned him a good bit of money, and completely confused any attempts to follow up on Moriarty’s whereabouts.  

When he got home nothing was amiss until he got to James’ room.

It was empty.

He drew his gun and began to search the house… nothing was missing or out of place except the restraints, and James.

~

Jim feigned unconsciousness when Sebastian checked on him.  It took most of his self-control to remain docile as the man stroked over the bruises on his throat. Once he left Jim held still and listened until he heard the outer door, and a distant car…

He sat up.  He fished the toothpicks out of the trash and picked the handcuff, and then used the toothpicks and the handcuff to break the lock holding his cuff to the chain.  The cuffs would be far too much work to remove immediately.  He ignored the meal bars and the water and found the office.  As expected the man had a burner phone and a computer.  It didn’t take long to extract his current address from the electronics. 

He used the land line to call one of his stupider minions, and then the housekeeper at one of his flats. She would hand over his travel bag. 

 _Sebastian has been doing work on the house? Then he would have the tools to remove the cuffs_.  Jim pulled on one of the man’s shirts and wrapped a towel around his waist and finally found his way out to the garage workshop.  There were an impressive number of tools including the welder that must have been used to fasten the chain.  It was short work to remove the cuffs, although the marks would last for a while.

He cleaned up any traces of his work and snooping, bagged the remnants of the cuffs, handcuffs, and locks and waited.

When the idiot showed up with the requested travel bag he changed into his clothes, put Sebastian’s things back as he’d found them…

And left.

The minion’s body would be found eventually–dead of an overdose.  It was true enough, the man was an addict and Jim had paid for the very purest drugs–he died happy, Jim supposed. 

He started calling off the worst of the failsafes. It was too late to call them all off of course, and trying to put some of them short would raise too many questions.  It took him nearly a half a day to stop the cascade.

 _Shit I’m hungry._   Jim blinked at the time and ordered in.

He idly looked into the news… Sebastian’s activities weren’t that hard to track, knowing what he did.  He was being clever; using the chaos Jim himself had set in motion to further blur the trail.

Jim considered while he regained control of the network pieces he wanted to keep.

Sebastian couldn’t tell Mycroft the truth, so his survival would remain a secret: in fact his actions had very likely removed all doubt of his death, as had the failsafes going off…

If Sebastian was half as smart as he seemed he would retire and never leave his house again… or maybe move to Nova Scotia and take up the study of sea shells or something…

But no, the man was too much of a predator… he MIGHT be able to give up hunting for his captive, but he was never going to be able to live a quiet life… which meant he would eventually be out, and vulnerable.

Jim chuckled and considered the marks on his wrists and the bruises on his throat–he would be in hiding until they faded at least.

_So let him wonder if I survived…let him assume I was dead, or had forgotten, or was too frightened…_

_And then?_

_Time to hunt a Tiger._

 


	6. Tiger Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back.

Sebastian went about his work, settling the estate and repairing things.  He made a few changes, like increasing the security on his home and putting in a few more cameras.  No one who wanted him dead had ever known where he slept before, after all.

If James was cautious he would retreat and act against him by proxy–hiring a sniper for instance.  If James was angrier than that he might arrange to have the place firebombed.  Sebastian considered carefully…

No, he would want me alive: at least he would want me alive to start.

Given that, Sebastian stopped worrying about a sniper and guarded against kidnapping instead.

~

Jim called one of his snipers and had them scout Colonel Moran.  Initially he was furious that the man didn’t seem to be taking the slightest precautions and then… _Alright, you’re clever_.  He must realize I’d want him alive.  A single bullet from a distance simply wasn’t going to happen.  Jim had to grudgingly respect the man for his nerve.

Jim considered.  Any attempt on him in the country would be difficult… but out of the country? Much easier. So how to get him out of the country in a way he won’t expect to be a trap.

Smirk.

Mycroft, of course. 

_I can set things in motion so that  Sherlock darling will need some back up: back up with special skills… No one official can go, so the Iceman will just have to send someone dis-avowable…. but good enough to trust his brother to..._

Jim pulled a few strings in the network, set a few plans in motion, whispered in a few ears… and then? _Just ignore it and go back to settling business until it happens._

~

The first two weeks of nothing were unexpected.  The first two MONTHS of nothing? Sebastian started wondering, seriously, if James had died.  He might have… Sebastian had interrupted his plans severely after all, and weakness of any kind in those circles was lethal.

The violence and chaos had settled, but… not instantly.  Sebastian honestly couldn’t figure out if the fail-safes had been called off, but not quickly, or if they had just been defeated by concerted effort–God knows the SIS had been busy.

He watched the people who had been targeted if Sherlock hadn’t jumped–he HAD essentially told James that Sherlock had survived: if Moriarty had gotten away, wouldn’t he activate those targets again?

Nothing.

Watson was despairing–he clearly didn’t know; their landlady was sad enough to make even Sebastian feel a bit guilty–she did remind him of his aunt a bit; and Lestrade was on administrative leave and drinking too much…

No one so much as looked twice at them from all he could tell.

Either his Kitten was dead… or he’d left it all behind and wasn’t coming back.  Sebastian felt unhappy about that, in a way he didn’t normally feel: Moriarty had been interesting… and now? Now he was gone.

 

~ seven months after the fall ~

 

Sebastian looked over the assignment from Antarctica as he was on route out of the country.  Sherlock Holmes had tracked down an agent of Moriarty’s who was running… hmm, reading between the lines it HAD been a weapons smuggling operation, and he’d tried to expand it once  Moriarty was out of the way.  Sebastian looked it over and sighed–they weren’t getting any direction anymore, nothing brilliant; just ordinary criminals.

He was not to have any direct contact with Sherlock, according to Antarctica, just pick up the information at the drop point and take care of the problem.  Pity, Sherlock Holmes had been a very attractive man…but probably not a good idea.

Sherlock’s notes had strong warnings that he thought it looked like a trap of some kind.  They had some explosives people, a lot of common gunmen, no snipers… and a tendency to holing up in fortified buildings.

Sebastian went for his own reconnaissance… they did seem to be expecting trouble, but that didn’t mean it was a trap. After considering carefully he chose to take down the targets by distance fire, and explosives… mostly when they were out away from base. A few he ambushed and killed quietly with knives–that was fun.

It didn’t take long for the survivors to decide that business was very, very bad here.  He picked a few more off, and set up to trace where they had gone, but he’d killed the leader nearly first thing.  They likely would have trapped or burned anything useful, but you could always find clues…

And he was curious…

And Antarctica had put a priority on any links to the rest of the network…

So Sebastian reported back in as to the current status, and prowled into the old building to see what he could find, now that they’d left. He defused the bombs and dealt with the traps–they were decent but not unexpected, and most traps like that relied on surprise. 

The traces were subtle– they’d done a good job of destroying evidence–but Sebastian was a hunter and he’d stalked harder game than this. He found some useful information, clues about their projects, more importantly clues about the men– the ones that were left– that he could use when he hunted them down.  He was leaving the building when a window broke.

Sebastian didn’t think; he reacted.  The concept of grenade was barely forming in his mind properly when he took cover behind the concrete and kept moving.  There were more sounds, like baseballs landing on the floor and muffled  explosions and…that sound like a seashore…

_Oh hell: gas._

He turned again, this time toward the source of his trouble.  If he was dead–and if it was nerve gas he was– then he was going to take as many of them with him as he could.

No longer concerned about shrapnel or concussion he dove across open space and out the  door… there were men there in camouflage and gas masks and he shot five of them before his vision blurred and his hands shook too much to hold his target.

He distantly felt people beating him down and tried to–

~

Jim was watching by remote when they brought in his captive.  There were fewer of them than there should be, and most were wounded and all of them looked furious.  His agent actually had to add a bonus to keep them from cutting Moran’s throat on the spot–apparently he’d killed several and wounded most of them before passing out.

Jim felt a peculiar pride in that.  If ANYONE was going to have bested him, even temporarily, it was… well obviously they would have had to be extraordinary.

His agents kept him sedated and did the immediate medical treatment he needed… and delivered him to, well not to Moriarty because he was dead, but to his current cover identity.

_… Time to make him feel at home._

Jim had ordered custom restraints: solid steel and needing a specialized wrench to remove.  It was barely possible that he could break one of the connection points, but only if he got the opportunity and the leverage…

He looked damn good in them. 

Jim gave him the antagonist and let him come awake.  Sebastian kept his eyes closed and just twitched a few muscles trying to  figure it out.

“You may as well open your eyes, Sebastian; I know you’re awake.” Jim let his amusement show, but really it was a very good response.

Sebastian opened his eyes and slowly rolled over and sat up on his knees.  Given his arms were locked firmly behind him, and tethered to his ankles, that was about all he could do.

He looked around very slowly, scanning the room, seeing that he was alone with Jim.

Jim had expected a lot, but not the slow lazy smile, and the pleased look.

“What are you so happy about, Moran?”

“I’m relieved that you aren’t dead, mostly.” And then his eyes tracked the room as if verifying that no one else was there and came back to meet his own. “Kitten.”

 


	7. a peculiar philosophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a chat with Sebastian...  
> (as a reminder Sebastian is not a nice man, and neither of these two is a good example, ever)

Jim was so stunned he didn’t react for a moment, then, “Do you actually have a slow and painful death wish, Colonel? I assure you it can be arranged.”

“Well, given that you aren’t dead, and I’m in the position I am… I rather thought that was a given?”  

Jim walked over and looked down at the man: he rolled his head to the side to look up, not straining his neck. “Given how you treated me, Sebastian, I would think you would have enough sense not to provoke me further,” Jim considered, “But I suppose a man of your interests? You’re probably used to provoking trouble…”

“Oh I just adore trouble…” the undamaged side of his mouth quirked up, “and kittens are nothing but trouble…”Sebastian’s not quite English rumble was still as pleasant to listen to as ever.

“Tigers apparently have a great desire to be skinned and turned into a rug.”

“I’d be useless to you as a rug, James.”

Jim walked over to his chair and made himself comfortable.  He picked up the tumbler of whiskey and sipped at it, “And what use do you think you could be to me in any case?”

“That depends…” Sebastian’s eyes tracked the drink thoughtfully.

“Ah, well I should return your hospitality properly: care for a drink?”

“My throat is a bit dry, yes.”

Jim poured a second tumbler of whiskey and after a moment’s consideration pulled the chair over closer and set up a small table on the side away from him.  Sebastian sat back on his heels and studied the room.

“Here you go,” he held the glass to the man’s lips, “I’m afraid that I can’t trust you far enough to cuff your hands in front of you.”

Sebastian took several slow sips and made an appreciative noise. “Good whiskey…” he looked up at Jim, the scar pulling that side of his mouth up in a perpetual smile, “That… would depend on what you have planned–I’ll not hold still to be skinned, but…” he twisted around until he was facing Jim on the chair, “I wasn’t planning on skinning you.”

“You planned on doing a lot of things to me, and they changed frequently.” Jim was watching the man thoughtfully. “I didn’t appreciate the majority of them.”

“I finally figured you thought I was going to hurt you in the bath… I wasn’t.” Sebastian leaned forward and Jim gave him another sip of the whiskey.

“You forced yourself on me, after.”

“True.” Sebastian nodded, “I hadn’t planned that, either, but I’m not a nice man… and I rarely meet people who intrigue me.”

“The last man–before you– who tried to force my attentions,” Jim smiled at him as he remembered, “slowly drowned on his own blood, and was grateful for it.”

“If he wasn’t dead I’d kill him for you.” he said it idly, calmly.

“Why? Because he got what you wanted?”

Sebastian looked at him very levelly, “I tend to think you deserve what you can take… but I go hunting for things that have a fair chance of hunting me back if I’m careless.  You… I hadn’t planned on…” he made a motion as though he was rolling that toothpick around, even though he didn’t have one, “you… were cunning and even in chains you were fighting, and I wanted that… wanted the combat and the blood and the sex…”

Jim hadn’t expected him to talk about it like that–either sneer defiance, insult and belittle him, or… deny that he’d done anything Jim didn’t want. “If you had asked…well, I doubt I would have been amenable since I was a prisoner, but you tried to force me.” Jim considered, “Was it the power? Because you didn’t do anything when I was… away.”

“I didn’t want a body without you in it–I said that.” Sebastian responded immediately, and then thoughtfully, “I don’t usually care much about sex, honestly, that’s just scratching an itch… it’s nothing to match the thrill of living, dying…” he looked a bit as if he was lost in thought. “I was, and still am, fascinated by someone who could be hurt as badly as you must have been–be backed into a lethal corner on the roof under my scope–and escape.” He looked up with that peculiarly fond look, “I was glad to see you were alive… when things were quiet for so long, I wondered.”

“Has anyone told you that you are completely mad–and that’s me saying that.”

“Repeatedly.”

“So why would you kill that man–your predecessor of a sort– if not simply for getting what you wanted?”

“He didn’t get what I wanted, Kitten, I want YOU…”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why?”

Jim stared at him, “Because its infuriating and I will skin you and turn you into gloves?”

He just chuckled, “I thought I was a rug?”

“A rug then.” Jim snapped and started to get up off the chair. _Why did I even bother to talk to the infuriating–_

“Why does it bother you? I admit I like seeing the fire… and the teeth…”

“Why?” Jim took a few steps away to keep from simply kicking him to death. “It’s demeaning and belittling.”

He blinked, “I didn’t mean it to be.”

“How the HELL do you call the King of the criminal underworld KITTEN and not mean it to be demeaning?!” Jim shrieked at him and found himself waving a knife.

“That’s what I mean…” Sebastian watched the knife with… an appreciative look. “Kali’s Kitten…except you LOOK deceptively small and adorable…”

Jim found himself utterly boggled–and THAT didn’t happen often. “You’re completely and utterly mental; how you manage to do such good work I have no idea.”

“Because I love the dance…” Sebastian abruptly slumped and rolled to his side. “Sorry, too much damage to my knees over the years to stay up on them.”

Jim walked back over and looked down, waving the knife idly at Sebastian’s crotch for emphasis, “I could start by cutting off a few offending pieces.”

“Given that I was a reasonable host–excepting that one evening– could you start with my knees? They hate me and the feeling is mutual.”

Jim brought his other hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I should lock you in a room with Mycroft…”

“I’ve not met him–Antarctica.”

“Tall, prissy, ice cold, three piece suit, far too posh, carries an umbrella and a pocket watch.” Jim said idly.

“I’ve spoken with him enough that none of that is a shock.” Sebastian chuckled.

Jim sat down and idly dissected the man in his mind–he was naming minor muscle groups to himself when Sebastian spoke again.

“Unless that last fellow hunted you properly and got you down by himself… he didn’t have the right.”

“What?” Jim blinked at him, having been interrupted.

“Anyone else that tried to, as you say, force their attention.” Sebastian considered, “I shouldn’t have, but it was glorious…” he closed his eyes and almost sighed in the restraints, “You tore my arm badly…”

“Didn’t have the right…” Jim had the eeriest feeling he was beginning to understand the man. “You… think you had the right because you captured me?”

“I had the power…” Sebastian considered, “it’s about the same thing most times… but you?  I should have…” he opened his eyes and looked up at Jim from the floor, “It would have been better if you’d wanted it–I think I tried to make it good for you, but… you’re everything that interests me… in a deceptively harmless looking package…”

Jim always did like puzzles: Sebastian seemed to be working with some odd but consistent rules of conduct, and, to be honest, the idea that the winner writes the rules was hardly unique to him.

“The last fellow was one of Mycroft’s boys…” Jim sat down and considered the man, “when nothing else broke my composure  they tried rape–to be fair I don’t think Mycroft approved it, but then I don’t think he personally oversaw most of it.”

“And you got to him?” Sebastian sounded appreciative, “through that security?”

 _The weakness of genius: we do so need an audience…_ Jim told him how he’d tracked the man, tricked him, had him quietly kidnapped and taken someplace extremely private… he hadn’t meant to go into loving detail of what he’d done to the man, but Sebastian seemed to approve, and he was a good listener.

“That’s good.” Sebastian said finally, “He hadn’t earned anything.”

“because he just worked there?”

“That and…whats the point of  raping a prisoner just to… just for sex?”

“You did.”

“First of all, I captured you and I held you; secondly it wasn’t…” the man apparently desperately wanted his toothpick from the way he kept moving his tongue and lip, “You weren’t just a body to use.”

“So my taking your skin off and having a TigerJack skin rug?”

“I’ll fight you, but…” he shrugged, “You won, I lost…still be a waste–I’m a damn good killer, and you wanted to hire me.”

“As if I could trust you?!” Jim laughed, “Let you out of those chains and you’d be at my throat in a moment.”

“…not if that was the price, and I agreed.” Sebastian considered thoughtfully, “You know my reputation–I keep my word.”

Jim sat back and breathed out hard through his teeth.  Tiger Jack–Sebastian– was one of the top men for hire in the world, and he HAD wanted to hire him… and he had lost a lot of his people. Jim studied the man, lying on his floor in chains: he was intelligent–if barking mad–and he’d been an intriguing and dangerous opponent.

After a while, Jim said quietly, “I think I’ll teach you a few lessons about exactly why you never want to lay a finger on me without permission, Sebastian,  but…assuming I don’t kill you or damage you beyond repair… perhaps I’ll allow you a chance.”


	8. Missing in Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tigers can be tamed, but they are never domesticated...

Sebastian regretted ever telling the man about his knees. Of course James used stress positions and sleep deprivation which required him to stand or kneel–he probably would have anyway.  Sebastian had to admit he had been expecting beatings and knives…

He got some of that–beatings anyway– but however much James had a knife in hand when he saw him he never used it on him. He stood, or sat, and some big goon with no brains hurt him, or moved him, but James was directing it and he never had a chance to get loose.

Time passed and got… confused… and he hurt, and was tired, and even when he could sleep it was never enough.  He had to admire the… _skill? That was the word wasn’t it?_   Because he always seemed to know when to wake him up, when to make him change position, when to keep him hungry or not.

At some point he blinked and shook his head and James was there again, but the room wasn’t one he knew. He tried to say something and his throat and mouth were too dry. He was restrained differently and the guard left.

“Cat got your tongue?” James asked him in a silky voice, “Or would you like something to drink?”

He tried to say something, but honestly all he could do was hang there.  James came up and gave him sips of water… or something… it was wet, and that was all that mattered.

“Now let’s have a few simple rules, shall we? If you make me happy you get water, and sleep, and you stop hurting so much… if not? Well…you haven’t been permanently damaged yet; that can change.”

“… James…” he just blinked muzzily… it sounded nice…

He was lowered slowly to the floor–there was a pad there– and James did something with his restraints, and he was asleep before his head hit the pad.

…

He finally woke up to a clear head–clearer anyway– with the vague recollection of having been given more food and water, and a hand that didn’t hurt… he tried to push himself up from the floor and found he had very limited motion…

“Back among the living finally?” James’ voice… which was apparently attached to James’ shoe that his head had been resting on and he hadn’t even noticed.

“I… think so?”  He let himself collapse back down–not onto  James’ foot, but next to it.

“Now assuming you’re ready to pay attention…” James hand pulled his head back by his hair. “You wanted blood and violence and sex, Sebastian?  I’m perfectly willing to give it to you–on my terms: you might not enjoy it.”

“I… have a choice?”  He rolled the words over in his head–it did seem to mean that.

“Oh yes, you do… You can get a chance to be my employee–in which case I’ll hand you to some of my men to train and we’ll see if you’re worth keeping alive– or you can take a chance on being my PERSONAL guard and pet–in which case I’ll train you myself.”   James smiled down at him, “That will probably hurt more, though.”

Sebastian tried to make his brain work and while he was doing that James gave him a few more sips of something–electrolytes from the faintly oily and salty taste.

“I… told you before… I think…you’re fascinating…”

“You may have mentioned.”

“If you try to have me work for you… but not… not have you… then just cut my throat– you’ll have to anyway.”

James slowly let go of his hair, “You… are an incredibly strange man, Tiger.”

He didn’t say anything–couldn’t  really, although a part of his mind was utterly fascinated by how efficiently he’d been taken down– and then he realized James’ hand was petting down his back.

“I’m going to hurt you… but it’s your choice where it goes from there, Sebastian.”

He was trying to figure out what that meant when his nerves lit up with pain.  He just had time to inhale–or try to– when it happened again.  He honestly couldn’t tell what had happened, but it HURT… and he could barely get his breath.  It took far too long for the endorphins to try to catch up–too long under stress too tired, too weak– and he should have been mortified to cry out like that but he couldn’t manage to think.

“So do you want the sex to go with the pain?” James voice was dark and amused and he pictured velvet fur over sharp claws.

He couldn’t get enough breath to answer but when that soft hand touched him again he tried to move away before he realized it hadn’t hurt… then he tried to move toward it.  Pain lashed through him again.

The hand was back and he managed to make some kind of noise… and the hand stayed… and it didn’t hurt, the pain still happened but it was less frequent, and he could get a few breaths in between… and something felt good at the same time… and then it got confused… and the next time the sensation screamed through his body and took his breath away he couldn’t tell if it hurt… or felt good… and eventually his body overloaded on sensation and everything went black.

His mind slowly came back… over days? Was it weeks? He had no idea.

James hurt him–badly–but it felt wonderful if he begged… he didn’t like begging. Eventually he stopped minding so much because it was a relief and the pain…got more tolerable.  In one of those strange times when the two guards–he called them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum in his head, but he couldn’t remember why–were taking him to walk, or run, or otherwise keep his body in motion he managed to kick his mind back into gear.

_Conditioning, pleasure with pain… but only when I ask–beg… he’s a very cunning kitten._

By now his black suits looked like fur in Sebastian’s mind.

He was on his mat on the floor, his head allowed to rest against James’ knee and James’ soft fingers rubbing at Sebastian’s hair. Sebastian was regaining his wits more quickly than James probably thought, but he kept his eyes closed, or down and tried to save his thinking for the gym.

 _I’m going to have to get out of here_ … was one of his last thoughts when  James was doing something that he knew… he KNEW was painful, but he’d gone beyond pain and into that hazy endorphin high…and James held up something in front of his eyes and he realized it was a collar.

“You have to ask for it, Tiger…”

He did, and the soft leather fit low on his neck and then James kissed him.  he tasted blood and he moaned and tried to move, but he was still too restrained… it was possessive and rough, and soft and warm, and he felt teeth in his lip and he wasn’t sure who bit who… and it was wonderful.

~

Jim had left Tiger sleeping on his mat and got into the shower before he let himself start shaking.

He honestly didn’t know any more if the man frightened him, fascinated him, or some hybrid of both, but he definitely didn’t react predictably. He’d held up through things that should have broken him to pieces and come up… _well as sane as he ever had been_ , Jim supposed.

It had clearly been a mistake to try to keep him.

 _I clearly wasn’t going to be able to let him go, either_. He was too good at what he did, too intelligent and too dangerous and just too interesting to toss away…

He’d expected to be able to just… _Be honest Moriarty, he scared you and made you helpless again and no one does that and lives._

_Except he was in chains, begging to be whipped, to be beaten, to be cut, as long as I was the one doing it…wearing a collar and leashed to the foot of my bed…_

_But still murmuring Kitten when I petted him…_

_and still a Tiger and not a house pet…_

…

Well there was business that had been put off for far too long, and it would give him a chance to clear his head.

~

It was when Dee and Dum took him to the gym, again, and he hadn’t seen James that he started to worry.  At first it was the worry that he had upset him?  but no… he still had the collar… they tried to take it off of him to shower and he bared his teeth  at them and they backed down fast.  He washed up with a flannel and kept the water off the leather.

He looked down at the tray of food after the gym: _James usually brought him at least one of his meals, and fed me by hand and petted me… but he wasn’t here.  Hot food wasn’t easy to drug, water wasn’t easy to drug, the flavored drinks, and the cold things were… He’d probably been drugging me the whole time: if not the whole time then he would certainly want to have me docile while he was gone…_

When they came to get him for the third time–and he hadn’t eaten the sweets or the drinks with any of his meals, and his mind was clearer than it had been in a long time– he considered what to do.

The fourth time they came to get him he followed them docilely enough to the gym and listened: they were worried.

“He was supposed to be back by now, wasn’t he?” Sebastian hadn’t spoken to anyone but James and it was odd to say anything.

They jumped, both of them, and stared at him– _maybe they thought he couldn’t speak?_

He stood up from the weight bench and pulled Dum around and had his arm behind him and had his gun before either of them thought to react.

“Gentlemen… I asked a question.” He felt the weight of the gun in his hand and felt the rabbit quick pulse of the man in his grip and smiled.

Dee stammered out, “Yes, he was supposed to back after a day.  You… uh…”

“Does he have a routine to tell you if he’s delayed?”

“Yes.” Dum answered slowly… “He… didn’t send us word…”

He let Dum go slowly, but kept the gun and waved his off hand at Dee. “You DO realize I’d kill you before you drew a weapon, I trust?”

“…Yes.” And both of them kept their hands in sight and looked wary. _So they weren’t completely stupid._

“Good boy.” Sebastian gestured toward the door to the gym. “James must have left  clothing for me somewhere…”

“Maybe? Uh… there are a lot of rooms we aren’t allowed in…”

“First I need clothes, and boots, and then I need my weapons… and then I need to know the last place he was going.”

“If you think we’re going to let you shoot him…” Dum tried to sound fierce, but he wasn’t–loyal though and that was good.

“Shoot him?” Sebastian ran a tongue over the inside of his mouth, “If I wanted to shoot him I would have done it the first time… he’s far too clever to shoot…”

“Uh…” they were looking at each other like a pair of rabbits and Sebastian chuckled, “I suppose I better not skin you two and make you into dinner–he did seem shorthanded.”

“What?!” yelped Dee

Dum said slowly, “We lost a lot of people–I don’t know why– when the boss faked his death.  We got promoted–”

“I thought you two seemed a bit out of your league,” Sebastian nodded, “but I expect he did lose a lot of people.  I’m not going to shoot him: I’m going to go get him back... now move.”

They showed him to the rooms they weren’t allowed in, and he recognized a few from the restraints, and the whips… and the terrified looks on the two of them was funny as hell.

He locked them into his chains until he could find his things.

He didn’t have time to review the recordings he found–much as he wanted to– but there was a whole wardrobe of clothes sized to fit him that he’d never seen before, and weapons…

He came back and unlocked the two of them and shooed them on ahead until they got their gear and the keys to the car.

“Now you’re going to help me retrace his last known location, and then you’re going to get his medical ready–I assume he has that, I remember being in it.”

“Yes, sir?” said Dee somewhat hesitantly.

“Uh…” Dum hesitated, “We… don’t actually know your name… sir?”

“Tiger Jack,” he let his voice rumble and he felt the phantom taste of blood and metal fill his mouth as he got into the car.  “Oh, and see if we can stop somewhere to get toothpicks.”

_Someone stole my Kitten, and I’m going to hunt them down and rip them limb from limb…_


	9. Just A Helpless Little Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don't have me..."
> 
> TW: a lot of very not good stuff happens in this chapter. it is not at all graphic, however.

_It had been a trap and he had been too busy, and distracted, with his prisoner to realize it._

Jim was curled in the corner of his cell–something like an old meat locker, and cold enough to feel like it– cursing himself for being an idiot.  Luckily they only partially knew what they had: they thought he was someone picking up some of the pieces of Moriarty’s network.  The big question was who they worked for–because that determined what happened next.

He forced himself to go over the situation again.  On the down side: he was injured–he’d gotten shot, but it was a clean through and through; the door to his cell wouldn’t open from inside at all and it had no windows; the guards holding him were all combat trained and bigger than he was. On the plus side: he thought one of his people had gotten away–which meant possible rescue; they’d treated his injuries enough to stabilize him; and he hadn’t been further damaged… yet.

It was the ‘yet’ that worried him.

There were at least two senior, and five subordinate, people still alive that worked for them that he had seen. Jim could think with some satisfaction that his people weren’t taken down easily–they’d lost a lot of people capturing him. _Of course I’d lost all of mine–save possibly one– and I didn’t have many good people left._

The cold was getting to him–so was the lack of food or water. In his brief look at the senior people running this he could tell they weren’t in charge– they were acting under orders– so it was possible they were waiting for their employer to come get him, or they might be waiting to transport him to their employer.

In either case a change in his circumstances would be his best chance to get loose…

He kept his head down and pretended to be small and helpless.

…

They eventually threw in some food and a few bottles of water. _The delay was unexpected for them? There was some complication?_  Of course they could have just been ordered to make sure he didn’t dehydrate…

He crawled over–playing up the injury and the stiffness– and caught a few of them talking about whether they were going to ship him to England or question him here… not good.

England... that could be Mycroft– and if it was he was in worse trouble than he thought– it could be Magnussen–but wouldn’t he want him kept at a distance?– or it could be… – _sigh, far too many competitors scrabbling to pick up the pieces._

His ribs hurt and his leg throbbed, and he was wondering if he was really feverish, or if it was just…everything.

…

They threw in more water, and some candy–not even proper food.  He drank the water and left the candy in case he needed a quick burst of energy; if he ate them now he would waste it.

He found it easier to doze, whether from the cold, or the injury… _Yeah, I’m feverish._

…

He got woken up at some point and dragged out by the lower ranking boys–they smelled of coffee and cigarettes and bad decisions.  They beat him and were egging each other on; he quickly realized that it was going to get worse if something didn’t change, and he couldn’t afford any further damage– not if he was going to escape. 

He wanted to kill them slowly.  He wanted to die rather than let them touch him.  _Survival and revenge is better than dying_ , he told himself, so he cried and shivered and offered to make it good for them if they just wouldn’t hurt him anymore…

 _Small and harmless and easily abused_ , he played the role and refused to remember when it wasn’t a role and it was true; refused to let it get to him. He got fucked, and forced to suck two of them off, and he begged and cried for them and memorized every face. They weren’t gentle, or even careful, and all he could console himself with was that it would have been worse if he’d fought.

…He’d also managed to pick pocket a few things that might be useful before they tossed him back in his cell to curl up in the corner and whimper.

_I’m going to burn them all to hell._

He hurt badly and the taste of them was nauseating. Any one of them–even two of them– and he could have acted…but against all of them he would simply have been hurt more. He kept forcing himself to look at it tactically until the humiliation and pain was a banked fire, not an active flame.

He found himself thinking of his Tiger, back at his safe house.  If he didn’t get out soon, what would happen to him?  He… _for all that he was going to force himself on me he at least had some appreciation for me–something like a twisted respect._ He could make sure he didn’t give them that safe house for a while–if ever– but the ambush hadn’t been far enough away… they might manage to track his operations there…

He found himself hoping Sebastian would get away, if they found the place…

Then he put his mind back on trying to get himself away.

…

They dragged him out the next day and it was the senior two men.  They acted like they were getting ready to interrogate him, and they wanted to clean him up and check his wounds. They wrinkled their noses at the smell of him and he made a point of cowering and begging for lube and offering to give them blow jobs this time… _This isn’t me, this isn’t who I am, you don’t have me…_

They left him cuffed to the chair, cowering, while they stormed off to find out what the hell the men had done.

_I didn’t think they knew…_

They sent a guard in to watch him. He wasn’t one of the ones from yesterday, but–Jim looked him over– _he’d heard about it from his buddies: they’d bragged and he wanted a taste..._ He very sincerely begged his guard not to hurt him, and offered him a blow job, begged to give him one, really. He put everything he had into reading the man and waving the temptation in his face.

It worked.

He was too stupid to find a way to leave him cuffed to the chair–just cuffed his hands behind his back and forced Jim’s head down on his dick–after all, he knew the others had gotten away with it…

Jim bit down hard, released, and bit down again–if the man screamed he didn’t hear it, but the blood in his mouth was enough.  He lunged up and got the man under the chin as he was coming down… and then when he fell he kicked him with all the pent up anger he had.  He heard the sound of bones breaking, felt it under his feet; he picked up the keys with his hands behind his back and was out of the cuffs before the man finished curling into himself.

He got the gun, and the knife, and cut the man’s throat and then slipped out the door to find the rest of them.

He was Jim Moriarty again: hard and fast and the pain was pushed into a corner and told to wait.

He found an office and killed the man at the computer before he realized the danger… but the computer was still open… He got in quickly, downloading the vampire program to pull every bit of data out of their computers and into his own.  He pulled a few bits of clothing off the man–they wouldn’t really fit but they were better than what he had on–closed the door behind him and went hunting.

_You had a victim, now you don’t…_

Unfortunately there were more of them in the building than he’d seen, and the cameras were not all as visible… and maybe he wasn’t seeing as well as he liked…and no he wasn’t as steady on his wounded leg…

He had killed two more–they died too fast, but needs must– and was under cover behind a car.  He’d almost gotten out…

_Almost never counts._

They had him pinned down and a few of them were trying to circle around to where they could shoot him.  They wouldn’t take him alive again, not if he could help it– _and I’ll take as many of you with me as I can…_ he popped up and put a hole in the other car’s gas tank.  The idiots scattered as though it would burst to flame–too many movies making them imagine explosions… still, once the gas had spilled enough, vaporized enough, he might be able to work with it.

The adrenaline restored his alertness as another bullet whistled by him, far too close, but then there was a distant sound… Jim frowned, _that was a gun shot, but not close enough?_ And the man who had been too close fell dead from behind cover–a neat hole where his eye had been, a larger one where his skull had been.

 _Sniper… a miss at me? or… had my man gotten help after all?_ Jim calculated the angles and realized he was in perfect sight of the mystery sniper–he’d just have to hope he was on his side.  He crawled back– he had to crawl; his leg wouldn’t support him any more– forcing anyone who wanted him to bring themselves into the sniper’s sights.

Three more died, neatly and quietly with a precision that was incredible.  Jim could only lie behind the cover he’d found and watch… _who… who was that good?_

Someone was smart enough to try to keep under cover from the sniper, but it put him in Jim’s line of fire and… _one of THEM_.  He fired and the man went down screaming… _good… not too quick…_

Jim blinked and there were fires… and more dead… he must have blacked out.

He blinked again–his eyelids very heavy– and there was one of the enemy–one of the senior two– almost on top of him, but he wasn’t trying for Jim, he was trying to hide from the sniper… Jim took aim shakily and fired… the man screamed and his leg was bleeding…

 _Missed the knee_ , Jim thought muzzily, and the man was trying to stop the bleeding… and Jim couldn’t bring himself to care.

He saw the battle end–watched the one survivor of his own men as he started securing the captured… he supposed he should call out, but… it was just too much effort…

Then his man was right there and he was white faced and tearing strips off his shirt… and then…. _Oh his Tiger was here…_

_So it was just blood loss and fever, that was alright…_

…

“He’s allergic to penicillin.”

…

There was a beeping noise and his throat felt odd and he tried to pull whatever it was away from his mouth… he heard words but he couldn’t make them out, and he went back to sleep.

…

“Rotating guards on his room at all times, and if anything happens to him just remember I WILL find you.”

 _That… was Tiger?_   “Tiger?” and his throat was raw and someone gave him little chips of ice. He went back to sleep.

…

He woke up in a hospital– a real one, not one of his make shift ones– and he had too many tubes going into him and his throat hurt… _surgery_?

He rolled his head to the side…

Tiger Jack, in a leather jacket, was stretched out asleep in a large chair: his undamaged side was turned toward the bed and he looked tired–even sleeping– and had a bit of a beard… _wait… I bought that jacket for him…_

James was trying to figure out if he was hallucinating, dreaming, or what–because it didn’t seem very likely– when the door opened.  He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

“Sir?” _that… was Crase… one of the two he’d left to take care of Sebastian?!_

“Mmm?” Sebastian stretched–he could hear him– “Shift change already?”

“Yes, sir… do you want me to bring you anything?”

“Breakfast… full English if you can manage, other than that every form of meat they have and a few eggs.”

“Yes, sir.” The door closed _. What the hell? Why would they be calling him ‘Sir’?_

Jim opened his eyes and watched Sebastian stretch–it was certainly worth watching… what was more puzzling than Crase’s behavior was that he was still wearing the collar, because it showed just a bit above his shirt when he stretched.

Sebastian looked over at the bed and startled badly when he saw Jim’s eyes open, watching him.

He walked over to the bed, “Don’t try to move much, you were pretty badly damaged.”

“I can tell, but I couldn’t afford to pay attention at the time…” his voice was rough and his throat hurt, so he’d been under enough to be intubated alright.

“Your usual medical wasn’t going to cut it, but once you’re stable we can move you for security’s sake.”

“…That was your shooting… I’d wondered.” There was something very wrong and dangerous about this, but he couldn’t quite think what.

“I’m the best.”

“I had hoped you would get out, before they tracked back to the safehouse…”

“Did you?”  Sebastian smiled, “Kind of you.”

“Shitty way for you to die… like being burned to death in a zoo cage…” Jim felt his energy slipping away.

His eyes closed and they were too heavy to open.

A heavy calloused hand touched him carefully and a familiar thumb brushed his lip and cheek, and he leaned into it and went to sleep.


	10. Business first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation in the hospital...
> 
> (Neither of them is the picture of mental health here, but Sebastian is by Salvador Dali in comparison.)

There was something universal about hospitals overnight– too much coffee, and medical people trying to keep alert, and visitors gone for the day.  Sebastian didn’t like hospitals but the overnight shift was almost bearable. Of course having gone back to get a shower, a shave, a fresh change of clothing and some equipment improved his mood too.

The guard wasn’t outside James’ room and for a moment he worried, but then he heard voices…

“… and for the love of all that’s unholy find me some real food–if I see one more cup of broth I’ll throw it at you.” James’ voice.

“Yes, sir, I’ll try?”… and the guard.

“Get out.”

And Dum stepped out of the room and looked relieved to see him.

“He’s driving us all insane.” He admitted quietly.

Sebastian chuckled, “Good, it means he’s feeling better.  I’m on guard; go get him some GOOD soup at least.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sebastian walked in to find James lying propped up in bed, glaring at the clock on the wall. “Glad to see you’re feeling better…”

“I could recover just as well in my own place…” Jim tried to glare at him but was too tired to manage it properly. “Care to fill me in on the fact that you’re apparently my new second in command and/or my cousin?” _and how you managed to suborn my people, or get loose in the first place._

“Well I had to come up with some reason to take charge of your medical…” Sebastian started to sit on the edge of the bed but James tensed, so he sat on the chair next to it. “The medical people think you’re my cousin–or at least they know that’s the story.” He wanted to touch him but doubted it would be taken well right now–he seemed tense. “I think a few people assume we’re partners… lovers… and all, especially since you were assaulted because you were gay.”

“I did pick up that that was the story…” James sighed. “It’s as good as any to explain my injuries, but why here? Why not my medical? Perkins and Crase told me you had it waiting.” _And neither of them could explain any of it–idiots._

Sebastian put a fresh toothpick in his mouth. “You were too badly hurt. You needed a lot more medical than I think you were set up for.” He shrugged, “Anti-virals since I didn’t know what you were exposed to, antibiotics– you had a pretty bad infection– and… quite a bit of surgery. You’re checked in under one of my old cover names.”

James went back to staring at the clock: he muttered something Sebastian couldn’t catch, and then in a more usual tone, “So how did you convince my people? Or get loose for that matter.”

“Well Dee and Dum are quite loyal, but about as dangerous as a pair of rabbits…”

“Dee and Dum?” Jim blinked at him and then chuckled faintly, “Alright.  They wouldn’t–or couldn’t– explain much and tried to ask me about you: not knowing what you’d said I mostly snapped at them.”

“Didn’t tell them much other than that I wasn’t going to shoot you… poor rabbits tried to stand up to me when they thought I was going after you–loyal, as I said…if not actually dangerous.”

“How?”

Sebastian considered and put his feet up on the edge of the bed–that didn’t seem to bother him. “I was getting a few bits of my wits back before, but once you were gone I stopped drinking the drinks or eating the dessert… I assume they were drugged.”

“Of course they were.” Jim sighed and stared at the clock some more, “So why take me to the hospital? And what now?”

“What was it you said? A poor way to die…” Sebastian took his feet off the bed and sat forward, very slowly. Making sure James could see the motion he brought his hand over and stroked his hair back, “You did a gloriously good job of dealing with them yourself, Kitten.”

James pulled his head away, “Not good enough.” _Rage and shame and hurt…_

“No, but you wouldn’t have been lacking an honor guard.”

Jim snorted, “Do they have honor guards to Hell? If such a thing existed I certainly wouldn’t go to heaven.”

“I prefer the Norse view… you would have died in battle of some sort.” Sebastian let his fingers trail down the side of his neck.

“Even if you wanted to–” James was hissing.

 _Ah_. “It doesn’t have to be sex for me to touch you–I’m mostly glad you’re alive… but I said that the first time I saw you.”

“Do.Not.Touch me.” Jim spat the words out and Sebastian slowly pulled his hand back. 

“You didn’t seem to mind before…” Sebastian considered: _it was probably the helplessness–he was even less able to fight now than when I had him in chains._   He couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

“I’m no one’s pet, Colonel.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk, “Am I?”

Jim hesitated and looked away from him, “No. You…were never a pet.”

“Why don’t we worry about terms a bit later, Hmm?”

“Fine!” Jim snarled, _business then, I can manage business._ “I downloaded their computers already–if someone will just get me a damn computer I can find out what contacts they had…”

Sebastian stared at him and … _I hadn’t thought I could be more impressed_ … “I was impressed with how many you took down, Kitten, I had no idea you managed that too…”

“Combat isn’t my specialty, Moran: I have people for that.”

Sebastian leaned down carefully–Kittens had very sharp teeth–“well, I have a handful of survivors in your dungeons…I questioned a few briefly, but if you have the computer–”

“Which ones?” James interrupted suddenly and his eyes were intent.

Sebastian walked over and got his phone, and came back.  He brought up the pictures, “Here.” He watched James’ eyes as he flipped through the images–he might normally be good at hiding his expression but not now, it was clear which ones had hurt him.

“Want to have me skin a few for you?” Sebastian started to reach out and hesitated.

Jim watched him and suddenly realized what was missing. “Has it ever occurred to you to ASK, Colonel?”

“Pardon?”

“I told you I would teach you why you didn’t want to touch me without my permission, Tiger, but apparently the lessons didn’t stick.” Jim had the eeriest feeling that Sebastian didn’t want to hurt him, exactly, but simply didn’t understand…

Sebastian couldn’t help but consider that, “Some of them did…” he ran a thumb over the collar, settled beneath the collar of his shirt–it was comforting.

 _James couldn’t expect him to beg, could he?  Just… ask?_ “Can I touch you then?” Sebastian tried the words out cautiously, rolling them around in his mouth with his toothpick.

Jim didn’t want to admit how much he wanted someone to touch him that wasn’t hurting him. “…Nothing below the collar and I’m not in any shape for anything even remotely rough…”

James was watching him suspiciously as Sebastian reached out a hand and drew his thumb gently across James’ cheekbone, “I rather thought you would be more grateful…”

Jim bristled. “Gratitude doesn’t entitle you to my body.”

Sebastian tried to consider that, “I rarely had anyone I was interested in say no… but then I wasn’t often interested.”

“Has it occurred to you that right after several people forced themselves on me, hurting me badly, might NOT be the best time to touch me without asking?”

Sebastian had to concede that _no, that_ … “I hadn’t drawn any comparison,” he tried to consider how to explain it. “I’m afraid I got rather… upset… when you went missing Kitten.”  He nodded his head slowly, “And as I said before–I’m not a nice man… but I don’t want you hurt…I want you…” he was trying to figure out how to say it when James spoke suddenly.

“After they threw me back in my cell, I had to concede that you at least had some respect for me… what was it you said? I wasn’t just a body to use?” Jim watched the man–he seemed honestly to be trying… and his touches weren’t sexual, even if they were terrifyingly possessive.

“I’m not interested in your BODY… I’m interested in you…”

“Now if you can learn that the two are not completely separable… it’s possible we won’t kill each other in the next twenty four hours.” Jim sagged back on the pillows.

Sebastian cocked his head, “How about touching your hand? Or arm?”

“If you can find a hand or arm that isn’t covered in tubing or bandages–go ahead.”

Sebastian carefully picked up his free arm–the one that just had a few bandages and an IV line. “Do you want me to question the prisoners? Or do you want to wait…?”

Jim found his hand curling around the man’s fingers despite himself, and beat down the urge to take some comfort from him– _how the fuck did I ever start thinking of him as comforting?_ “Bring up the pictures again.” Sebastian did. “That one was one of the two in charge–that I saw.  They didn’t know what the men had done– not saying they wouldn’t have authorized it, and they were getting ready to question me–but if any of them has any real information it would likely be that one.”

“So I can question him…I take it you want the other three for yourself…”

Jim tiredly tapped one of the pictures, “I never saw him; I have no idea who he is, or what he knows, so you may as well get started–he might just be a guard on the building.  Those other two?  They’re going to hurt,” he snarled, “And I’m going to break them.”

Sebastian ran his hand up James’ arm carefully, tracing around the worst injuries, eventually cupping his face in his hand gently, “I’m not sure you’ll be up to it personally soon enough, but I’ll keep them in good shape… at the very least you can sit and watch while I’m your hands for you…”

Jim blinked at him, “Have I mentioned lately that you are a very strange man?”

“Not lately, but you were unconscious.”

He finally couldn’t stand it anymore, “So why are you still wearing the collar?”

“You gave it to me, Kitten.” Sebastian ran his thumb over it again, “I was a bit worried at first that you were staying away because you were unhappy with me… but you hadn’t taken the collar back…”

“Mental.” Jim tried to shake his head and found his cheek pressed into Sebastian’s calloused hand… it was surprisingly comfortable.

Of course Perkins walked in with a tray about then.  He stopped and stared at them and Jim could almost picture the long ears and the twitching nose as he tried to make sense of it.

“I, uh, found some soup? I mean the doctors said it was okay but it’s not broth? Um…”

“He’s right; you’re a rabbit.” Jim sighed.

Sebastian took the tray from him and sent him back outside. “Your hand was shaking a bit… do you need help?”

“No.”

“After I was captured…I couldn’t use either of my arms properly for weeks.” Sebastian spooned up some soup and held it to his mouth, “I snarled about it too–doesn’t change the facts.”

“I’m just… tired.” Jim reluctantly took the spoonful of soup–it was better than the broth at least.

“You lost a lot of blood. Transfusions are great, but it’s not quite the same thing.” He waited until he saw James’ tongue run over  his lip and got him another spoonful.

“Antibiotics.” Jim grumbled, “Heavy duty antibiotics and fighting the infection.”  Jim took another mouthful of soup and considered, “I only had the redacted version of your military records.”

“Got shot down in a helicopter and survived… and was captured.” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed and his smile was unfriendly in the extreme–but it wasn’t aimed at Jim. “I made it costly, but… rather like your situation I was badly outnumbered, and injured.”

“…I… didn’t know that…” Jim looked away, “I didn’t think that what I was doing would have any… prior associations.”

Sebastian went very still. “And I did?”

“Of course you did,” Jim snapped.

Sebastian sat there lost in thought until James finally asked, “Am I getting more soup or are you asleep?”

He started spoon feeding him again, “It never occurred to me… or only as far as trying to figure out why you reacted the way you did.” He looked back into puzzled, tired, dark eyes. “I’m not good at empathy or anything– never needed to be I suppose.”

 _For all that anyone ever called me a sociopath, or called Sherlock one, they obviously never met a real one…_ “You seem… capable of caring?”

“Not often.” Sebastian tossed the mangled toothpick in the trash, “But I’m rather fond of sharp, sleek, cunning little Kittens.”

“…I may have grown accustomed to sharing my space with a Tiger… but…”

“As you said, we have business to deal with… and you need to rest and heal enough to get you out of here before anyone manages to come looking.”

“Get me my damn computer and I’ll get you the information they had, AND start losing our trail.”

Sebastian got the instructions on how to get past the security and get to his laptop and left–after James finished the soup.

Jim lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. _When did it become ‘our’ trail? And how the hell do I deal with someone that…Scares me almost as much as he intrigues me._

A while later, after Jim had been given his pain medication and was in that liminal space between waking and sleeping, Jim remembered that Sebastian–one of the best killers for hire anywhere– was impressed with how much damage he’d done… _he didn’t think I was a _helpless_ Kitten… even if that was a ridiculous nickname…_

_He was willing to try to comprehend boundaries…_

_Of course I’m not all that great at boundaries myself…_

_Business first._


	11. the feeling is mutual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by proxy...

Sebastian checked that all the electronics were in place and walked in.  The prisoner was restrained to a chair under the only light in the room– he’d had to be seated since one of his legs was damaged–and deliberately positioned facing away from the door.

He was collected enough not to try to twist around to see when the door opened, so this promised some entertainment.

Sebastian walked around in the shadows to JUST out of the man’s vision without turning his head. “So I expect you have some ideas about what comes next…”

“You’re about to offer me a chance to live if I answer your questions.” The man snorted, “Get on with it.”

“Live?” Sebastian wandered into the man’s field of vision and just forward enough to pick up the light. “The odds that you will leave this room alive are so low as to be laughable…” he smiled when the man caught sight of him–Sebastian knew he was intimidating, enjoyed it, and he could almost taste the man’s fear.

“The–”

Sebastian interrupted him, throwing him off pattern, “Of course how long it takes you to die… now that’s up to you…”

The man snapped his mouth shut, but his breathing picked up.  Sebastian began a slow walk around the man–retreating back into the dark.

He’d gone completely around him in a slow measured stride before he spoke again. “You took something–someone– that didn’t belong to you…”

“What?”  He twisted to try to look at Sebastian before he caught himself, but his eyes tracked him as much as he could as Sebastian completed the circuit around.

Eventually he spoke again. “Your prisoner… who was in very bad shape I might add...”  Sebastian’s voice was a low soft rumble–the man didn’t really have to strain to hear it, but maybe he did if his pulse was hammering in his ears.

Sebastian let himself quietly drift closer on his next orbit, so that when he spoke from behind him he was much too close… “I’m rather upset about that.”

He jerked in the restraints. “I didn’t do anything!”

Sebastian resumed his circuit, even more slowly. “He told me what you did, and what you didn’t do… he also said you were one of the two in command…”

The man was breathing raggedly, “I… I don’t…”

Sebastian stopped at the edge of his vision again–the other side this time, he always like symmetry. “Did you know; he once threatened to skin me and make a rug out of me?”  He smiled at the memory and continued to walk, “I don’t think he was serious, but… I did start to wonder if I could get someone’s skin off in one piece…”

“We were just–”

“Following orders?” Sebastian chuckled. “That hasn’t been a defense in a long, long time… but if you tell me whose orders– I might be persuaded to make it quick…” he paused until he was almost around the man again and then said quietly, “might.”

He started talking: Sebastian only had to encourage him to more complete answers once…

They had started working for one of Moriarty’s former partners? Network?–someone he had worked with in any case– who was trying to take over the remnants of things now that he was dead…

And didn’t have the courtesy to negotiate first…

But after they lost so many people, and ended up with just one prisoner to show for it, they’d looked at how many other groups had standing offers for information on Moriarty’s network–or any of his people…

They’d been speaking to several…

They had serious offers from two… depending on more details about who and what they had.

Sebastian nodded slowly, “So you were going to try to interrogate him to find out…”

“Yes…” the man looked wrung out.

Sebastian nodded and walked out.

“I trust that was better than the hospital television?”

~

One of Jim’s people had brought him headphones and a microphone to go with his laptop: it was about the only thing that kept him from strangling himself on his IV line out of pure boredom… and anxiety, if he was honest.

Getting into the hospital computers was TOO easy–he had to assume that if anyone was really on top of things they might have already gotten his information, so he had to work small–changing a few things here and there, and editing the lab results as they came in later…

Sebastian called in at some point through his laptop. “Keeping busy?”

Jim caught himself smiling at the voice and scowled, “Yes… but the hospital information is… not secure.  I could only change a few small things–if Antarctica–or certain other people– were behind this, then he’ll have too much by now.”

“We’ll have to talk about solutions then… but I was about to ask the senior fellow some questions… I thought you might like to listen in…” Jim could hear the smile in Sebastian’s voice, “And watch…”

… And his laptop was suddenly receiving video.

The prisoner–the senior fellow he’d shot in the leg– was restrained in a chair, under a spot light.  Jim had to repress a shiver from memories.

Sebastian’s voice was a soft purr, “I’m about to go in… I have a pick up to your microphone if you turn it on–so if you have any specific questions… once I let him answer any…”

And he walked into the room behind the man.

Jim watched, and listened, and _God this is a masterclass in interrogation_. Sebastian’s voice was a soft rumble, smooth and deadly and low… Jim had always known he had a sexy as hell voice, but this? 

He checked again that the microphone was off when he started breathing heavily and a faint whimper escaped him–that voice… and the way he walked around the man … Tiger Jack wasn’t just a call name. Jim turned the room lights off.

The anticipation was breaking the man, and Jim was leaning forward enough to HURT when Sebastian’s voice–possessive and dark and velvety– said: “You took something–someone– that didn’t belong to you…”

Jim pulled the table with the laptop close enough that he didn’t have to lean forward and slipped his good arm under the sheets…

Sebastian’s footsteps were just a soft padding noise, and the man was sweating and twisting in his restraints… So was Jim, but for different reasons.

Sebastian was behind him and walked up close–silent as his namesake– and his voice was so smooth, and so very dangerous … “I’m rather upset about that.”

Jim closed his eyes and he could almost feel the man’s thumb swipe across his lip… his hand wasn’t nearly enough.

“Did you know; he once threatened to skin me and make a rug out of me?”  Jim could see him smile… a genuine smile. “I don’t think he was serious, but… I did start to wonder if I could get someone’s skin off in one piece…”

 _I wasn’t… but I bet you could…_ Jim couldn’t keep from panting and little noises were escaping him… and if anyone heard him he was going to have them gutted–no he’d have Sebastian do it… _while I watch… Oh God…_

The man broke and started talking and Sebastian hadn’t laid a finger on him…

 _He needs to get back here and lay a few fingers on ME… or at least talk…_ Jim was busy listening to that voice and remembering him restrained, and begging–imagining him talking more than begging…

“hrm?” Jim managed to focus on the screen as the man balked.

“Oh… that’s not friendly…” Sebastian leaned forward –not touching the man but practically on top of him– “you were doing so well…”

He took his knife– _no… that was one of mine?_ And trailed it without cutting across the man’s face in a mimicry of his own scar…

“Just tired?”  Sebastian moved the knife lower. Jim was watching the cameras, and he’d clearly positioned one perfectly to see this… “or were you trying to lie to me?”

“No!… no, I just… couldn’t… remember…” the man was panting and trying to move away from the knife.

“I’m sure your memory can be…helped…” and Sebastian turned the blade just a hair and a line of red started following the knife down his chest.

Jim missed when the man started answering again… but Sebastian’s voice was soothing him through his post orgasm shudders.

Eventually Sebastian left the room, and his voice–lighter and warmer– said into his microphone, “I trust that was better than the hospital television?”

Jim’s hand shook as he flipped the microphone switch on. “That…should be on the porn channel…” he cursed the fact that his voice was breathy still.

There was a pause and then a new camera turned on–one of Jim’s in his office just a few meters away from the playroom– Sebastian was sitting in Jim’s chair. “Oh?... It certainly… interests me…” and Sebastian’s eyes were intense and he licked his lip.

“You’re in my chair, Tiger…but yes…It was… inspirational.”

Sebastian got that predatory but not unfriendly look again…“You liked my little show?” and his voice was dipping deeper, “And yes, I’m in your chair… thinking about what I just did… thinking about what I want to do to them… thinking entirely different things about what I want to do to you…” and Jim saw his arm moving in a familiar way.

“In my office? In my chair?” Jim’s voice roughened a bit in response, “I’m going to have to teach you a few more manners, Tiger…”

“Maybe I liked your lessons… some of them…” and he reached up and pulled his shirt open to show the collar before he reached back below the camera angle… “If you were grateful for all my hard work, you could be under your desk right now…”

 _Yes I could, and… it probably wouldn’t be that bad…_ “I’d be more likely to have you in chains on my bed, Tiger…” and Jim’s hand had gone back under the sheets… and he bit his lip trying to stifle the sounds.

That rumbling noise that Sebastian made didn’t sound unhappy… more like a purr. “Either… both… You could have me on my knees while those other two bled…”

Jim threw his head back and moaned, and Sebastian made a noise somewhere in between a laugh and a growl.

“I want my hand in your hair, Tiger… and to feel you wanting me and waiting until I say…”

Sebastian was panting, “I’ll make them scream for you… and bleed for you… and beg…”

 _They hurt me…_ “I had to pretend to be helpless, Tiger…” Jim was snarling but he could picture them screaming, begging for mercy…

“You’re never helpless… and you have me… They’ll be begging you to make me stop…”

“My Tiger…” Jim came again…

There was silence from both of them for a long while, and then Sebastian leaned into the camera and made a familiar gesture with his thumb–not quite touching the camera.

“Sweet dreams, Kitten, I’ll see you in the morning and we can go over plans.”

“I… have several plans, Tiger… Sleep well.”

 


	12. Just A Helpless Little Kitten, again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitten?!

Jim was supposed to be in the hospital for another week at least, and then physical therapy.  He had himself checked out against doctors’ orders after two more days.

Sebastian watched him with a dubious expression as he was wheeled into the suite of rooms.  A part of him was glad to have him back, but… he needed a lot more care…

“What is it?” James was snarling–probably because he hurt.

“You still need a lot more medical than you have here…”

“I called in two of my medical people–they’ll be here tomorrow.” Jim grumbled, “Until then I’ll cope.”

Sebastian waited until the other staff and guards were out of the room before looking him over again critically, “You look like a stiff breeze would take you over.”

“I’m inside, it isn’t breezy.”

“You should be resting in the hospital bed.”

“I can’t.” James looked up at him suddenly with that furious look, “I CAN’T rest in hospitals! Pick one, rest or be in a hospital!”

Sebastian took a step backwards, blinking… “okaaayyy…” he sighed, “Can I help you get into the bed?”

Jim stared at the bed and considered, “Fine.” He grumbled and then startled as Sebastian simply picked him up out of the wheelchair.

Sebastian considered the bed and the pillows critically, did his best to mimic the support of the hospital bed, and then sat down on the other side of the bed–it being much wider than the hospital bed he was still some distance away.

“You said you had some ideas of how to deal with the problems, but you didn’t want to tell me in the hospital…” Sebastian considered, “And you were surprisingly quiet on the way out…” he narrowed his eyes, “Almost small and helpless…”

“We were being watched.” Jim admitted. “I would have put up with the hospital until my medical people could get there, but…”

“But?”

“The hospital computers were too easy; there’s too much likelihood that someone got access, especially since… since the people that had me were fishing for sales.” Jim looked tiredly up at him, “The odds are that at least one of the problem people back in London is suspicious by now.”

“Alright…” Sebastian put another toothpick in his mouth and rolled it around thoughtfully, “So checking out early helps how?”

“First it keeps me from being quietly assassinated in my hospital bed.”

“Point.”

“Then it buys us time.  Unfortunately…” Jim braced himself as best as he could, “Can you act, Colonel?”

“Depends on what I’m trying to  act like?”

“I saw you handle Mycroft on the phone–Antarctica: can you do it in person?”

“Dunno, never saw him in person.” He chewed on the toothpick calmly.

“Antarctica sent you on the mission I got you from–I know, I arranged it– and knows you are missing, or at least out of contact.  Would he believe you if you said you went dark to follow a lead? Maybe to infiltrate a group?”

“Certainly,” Sebastian shrugged, “I’ve done that before… not with him directly, but he’d know that.”

“Then it’s believable… barely.”

“I’m smart; I’m not a mind reader: what is?” Sebastian smiled–he loved watching that clever mind work.

“The story would have to be that those bastards captured Jim Moriarty’s relative and body double –me– who was being used as a figure head to try to pick up the pieces. You took them out after infiltrating enough to find them, AND the group I was with.  You… decided to keep me for some reason, which is why I was checked in by you under one of your names.”

Sebastian sat back and looked at him, “More like I was captured, but managed to get away… after I met you and found out you were a pawn?  By that point I had a personal grudge against the bastards, and tracked the remnants down even after you got picked up by another group… that… might hold up, and being captured would explain why I was out of touch–and pissed off enough that I didn’t even think about getting back in touch.”

“Stay closer to the truth and it’s easier,” Jim nodded and lay back on the bed looking unhappy. “Killing off another lookalike won’t work, and wouldn’t explain why I was in the hospital…” he took a deep breath, “You’ll have had to have decided to keep me.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened and then crinkled in amusement, “So it’s like you said: sticking to the truth then?”

“I’m not your prisoner, or your pet, Moran,” Jim growled, “and if you try to make this the truth–”

Sebastian leaned forward and stroked his thumb against Jim’s cheek, “I don’t like meek little things, Kitten, but I like being able to walk away myself, too.”

“I’m not holding you–couldn’t at this point.” Jim admitted dubiously.

“Can YOU play the part? If Antarctica wants to see my new pet?”

“I’m a superlative actor.”

“If you can manage it–I can.”  Sebastian chuckled, “So who else are we worried about?”

“Fellow named Magnussen: officially an up and up reputable–sort of– newspaper publisher.”

Sebastian nodded, “Ok, so why am I concerned?”

“He’s got a mind like a steel trap under all his ooze, and he’s a blackmailer–never has to get his hands dirty, but he has a lot of people doing his dirty work for him.”

“So shoot him?” Sebastian said reasonably, and then reluctantly took the toothpick out of his mouth and got a fresh one.

“A delightful idea… if you can do so without getting caught: a lot of people know that if he dies their information goes public, and while they want him dead? They don’t want that.”

“He have anything on you?”

“He did, but since I was dead? Who cared… if he suspects I’m alive then it gets… difficult.”

Sebastian nodded slowly. “So… how do you want that handled?”

“I’d like him killed soon–before he can set anything in place to cause issues with our cover story.”  Jim hissed as he turned in the bed.

“James… you’re exhausted, and another few hours won’t make a difference at this point.  I’ll call in to Antarctica: you sleep.”

…

Jim lay in the dim light after Sebastian went out trying not to let on just how much this plan unsettled him.

 _I’m going to have to trust Sebastian to play my owner, and not … take advantage_.  He stared off at the ceiling–and his past– _I’m going to have to play his toy…_

_I swore I’d never be anyone’s plaything again…_

He hugged the pillow tightly and tried to rest.

~

Mycroft had the call transferred to his private line: recorded of course.

Colonel Moran’s voice–with more inflection than usual, and more of his Indian accent: “Antarctica, my apologies for being out of touch.”

“I was concerned.  What happened?”

“Your… agent was right: it was a trap.  It was unfortunately a much better trap than I had any reason to suspect.  After removing the group, I went in to investigate for clues and… was captured by a different group waiting for just that type of action.”

 _Angry, humiliated a bit… truthful: that explained what they had found._ “Obviously you escaped.”

“It took me a while, unfortunately.” His voice held wounded pride in it–quite sincere.

“I have some… information that doesn’t quite make sense…” Mycroft held out the question.

“Well, let me tell you the rest of it and maybe it will: I have no idea what information you have.”

“Please proceed.”

“I was hauled off and didn’t wake up until I was someplace else.  THAT was a group trying to pick up the pieces of this Moriarty’s network– they’d been using the drug and weapons group as bait. I suspect they were angling for your agent.  They… worked me over rather efficiently.”

No matter how intently Mycroft listened it sounded genuine. “How did you get away?”

“Well,” he chuckled faintly, “I almost didn’t believe it when they had another lookalike–a much better one–but it turned out this one was a relative.”

“Wait… a relative of Moriarty’s?”

“Yes.  He already looked quite a bit like the man before plastic surgery: from what little I got? The original used him as a body double.”

 _If a body double was available, it would certainly help_. “Do go on…”

“Well… he’s nothing like your clever original.” Moran’s voice sounded amused, “But he didn’t like his keepers much either–he’s how I escaped.”

Mycroft could hear the man making all his usual unfortunate noises–he believed the man  chewed on toothpicks– “I told him I’d come back and get him out, and was working on it when yet another group of” –He devolved into Pashtun–“showed up and captured the group I was hunting… and him.”

And that was the last piece of the puzzle: the men offering to sell information, or a high ranking person in Moriarty’s network; the complete extermination of that group; the man who was checked into a hospital. “You retrieved him I take it.”

“Yes.  He was… is… badly damaged.”

 _Moran sounded a bit angry?  He was a complete sociopath, but it sounded like…_ “You sound… attached, Colonel.”

“I do like a few people, Antarctica…” he sounded defensive.  “My Kitten was hurt and I take that badly.”

“…your… Kitten?”

“My Kitten,” he repeated. “His name is James…  he’s Moriarty’s cousin.”

“Kitten?” Mycroft found himself repeating incredulously.

“…do I ask you questions about YOUR personal life, Antarctica?” _more defensiveness and a bit of anger._

“No… no you do not.  My apologies.”  Mycroft was blinking a great deal. _Kitten?!_

“I was injured at several points in this, and frankly reinjured my knees.  I suspect I will need a great deal of down time to recover.  I will be unavailable for any further assignments.  I will be returning to my home as soon as I can, however, and can handle any reports needed from there.”

“Can you deliver this cousin to my custody; I have several questions he may be able to answer.”

“No, but I can bring him in personally once he recovers enough–he’ll be living with me after all.”

“…he…what?”

“Do I ask you questions about your personal life?” Sebastian repeated and then his voice dipped into a chilly growl, “Or ANY  questions?”

“Ah… again, my apologies… I was…surprised.”

There was a hesitation and then a grudging, “My apologies in turn–I’m in pain and… yes, it is unusual.  Yes, I’m keeping him: he’ll be moving into my house.  Once he’s a bit better I can bring him by for an interview or you can have someone come to see him there… assuming I approve them coming to my home.”

“Certainly… keep in touch, Colonel.”

After Mycroft hung up he sat staring ahead for some time…

_Kitten?!_

 


End file.
